


Suffer the Hero

by WL_Erkling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom Draco, Elder Wand, M/M, voldemort - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WL_Erkling/pseuds/WL_Erkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Voldemort's defeat, Harry has been slowly losing control of his magic. Hermione's left Ron and now it's up to Ron to find a cure. Who does Ron call in to try and help his best friend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffer the Hero

Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and themes from the Harry Potter universe are property of J.K Rowling. I neither own, nor am making profit from the writing or sharing of this story.

 

* * *

 

 

            “You made it. I didn’t think you’d come, him being… him and all.” Ron scratches at his beard, upper lip twisting a little.

            “Yes.” They stare at one another for a moment until Ron steps back, waving a hand toward the room.

            “Uh, yea, come in, I guess.” His visitor strides past, dressed in a robe of the latest fashion. It is snugly tailored around his shoulders, curving sharply to the waist. That’s where it flares outward, cutting away in the front and exposing some of the trouser beneath. It startles Ron to remind him of their old potions master, Severus Snape. He shakes the memory away. It isn’t the time.

            “Where is he?” Never one for idle chatter, his guest begins looking around the small home. He even has the gall to wipe one gloved finger along a banister to see what comes up. Ron is appalled, but laughs when the slender man sneers at the clean leather. It was as if he’d been expecting a swath of barnacles instead.

            “Well, I-I’ve had to lock him up.”

            “Lock. Him. Up? Are you daft?”

            “You don’t understand! He’s gone mad, he has! First it was just a bit of accidental magic, but then it got too wild and we couldn’t control it!” At this point, Ron is gesturing madly, arms flailing, his loose clothing billowing around him.

            “Calm yourself.” An open-palm, hands-held-outward, air pat seems to do the trick and Ron takes a few deep breaths. “I get it. He’s lost the plot.” A bit more quietly, “Although, I think he’d done that a long time ago.”

            “Eh, I heard that.” There is consternation across Ron’s face now. He tries the deep breathing again. “Look, mate. This has been going on for right about fourteen years. Since he offed you-know-who, the bloke’s been a bit barmier every day. At first, Hermione,” he pauses here, looking down at his fingernails, which are raw and worn, “Hermione thought that he was cursed. We tried everything we could think of. You know how she is.” He smiles warmly. “She spent hours with her nose in books, only coming up for air long enough to take a biscuit and tea when I forced her. She cast so many diagnostic spells, she knew them in her sleep. She often nodded right off in that chair over there.” He leans his head, indicating a comfortable rocker, the table next to it still piled with tomes.

            Fingers snapping in his face bring Ron more alert. “We are not here for your reminiscing, Weasley. Why is he locked up?”

            A blush creeps across his cheeks, although it is somewhat difficult to tell. “It started when he came home and we… Hermione and I, we were…” His toes are suddenly very interesting.

            “Fucking. You were fucking. Get on with it.”

            “You’ve always been a rude sod. Fine. We were… and he came home earlier than expected. He was agitated and wanted to talk with me. I was a bit preoccupied.” His guest snorts. “So he went to his room and the magic was too much. He blew all the bloody windows out! I had to shield Hermione and she spent the next two hours pulling shards of glass out of my back.”

            “And?”

            “It got worse.” His eyes fall, hair throwing shadows across the hollows beneath his cheekbones. “He started lashing out at us. It wasn’t just his mood swings. He was eating less. He couldn’t sleep. Most evenings, all we could hear was the pacing. He never stopped pacing. There would be three hours or so in the morning when he’d crash and then right back to it. He couldn’t go out of the house. A few years ago, the whispering started.”

            “Whispering for years?”

            “Yea. We couldn’t understand him at first. We were tired. His pacing was keeping all of us up. I went in to give him some breakfast and stayed to make sure he wasn’t having a bad day, you know? Then I heard him whispering. I only recognized half the words. When I listened more closely, I realized they were spells. He was reciting spells. Each time he’d say one, there would be this sort of whirl of air around him. I think he was trying to channel the magic without hurting us.”

            “Does he have a wand?”

            “No. After you-know-who, he snapped the elder wand. Tossed it away. Thought that it was too powerful. Hermione thinks it corrupted him, thinks that it might have been corrupted before he got it. Took me a while to get there, but I think she’s right. We had to take his away, hell, maybe six years ago?”

            “And what condition is he in now?”

            “All he does is say the spells. Constantly. I don’t think he can sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. He uses the spells as a sort of… how did Hermione put it? He uses them to discharge his magic.”

            “So tell me, Weasley, where exactly are you keeping boy wonder?”

            “He’s in the cellar.”

            “Show me.” Ron nods, walking past and setting his wand on the counter before he leaves the kitchen.

            “Up to you, but he’s taken mine once.” The newcomer smiles and gestures for Ron to continue.

            Approaching a thick, wooden door, he raps twice. Hearing nothing, Ron casts a series of unlocking and disarming spells. There is nothing but silence behind him.   The door opens to a dark stairwell. It is dank, smelling of something wild and filthy. Ron ushers the other man forward before pulling the door closed and sliding a thick latch in place.

            “He doesn’t just run up and escape?”

            “Not anymore.” Something dark crosses the visitor’s face. Some question that already has an answer. “If you’re keeping the wand, cast a lumos, would you, mate?” The steady sound of their footsteps echoes around them. “Harry?” A scrape. “Harry, I’ve brought you a visitor. Try not to hex him, o-okay?” Ron’s voice is unsure, unsteady. This makes the wizard behind him grip his wand just a bit tighter.

            Once all four feet are on the cellar’s floor, they pause, searching in the dim light for Harry. Off in a corner, they catch movement and the soft murmuring whisper of something almost meant to be heard.

            “Harry. How are you today?” Ron gathers the dishes beside the bed and moves them toward the stairs. He refills a glass of water from the sink. There is no response. Suddenly, the other wizard steps purposefully forward and brings the light to bear on Harry’s form. “I don’t think you should do that. As soon as he realizes who you are, he might—”

            “I need to get a closer look at him, Weasley. The light in here is appalling.” As the light moves toward Harry, the creature that had once been a great wizard now huddles there in the corner. His clothes are frayed and covered in a layer of filth, too large for his gaunt frame. All visible skin is marked with scratches and bruises. That once-recognizable mop of hair now lay in greasy strings around his shoulders. Perhaps the most worrying of all is the pair of bloodshot eyes staring back at him, blinking rapidly in the light of his wand.

            “Nox.” The tall man stepps back and raises an eyebrow at Ron, tilting his head toward the stairs. Weasley follows. “I need to observe him—alone.”

            “No. That’s not a good idea. He hasn’t recognized you yet. Once he does… I can’t begin to describe to you what his magic feels like.” He pauses and thinks for a moment, his mouth bunching together. “Imagine a knife flaying you and then following behind with electric needles hammering away on all your exposed nerves and muscles. That’s close to what it feels like when he focuses on you—and that’s when he’s in a _good_ mood. I can’t think what he would do to you.”

            “Your concern is noted. I am more than capable of handling myself. As you can see, I still hold my wand, whereas Potter does not.”

            A dry, heaving laugh is forced out of Ron. “And that, mate, is why I think you’re about to meet Salazar. Bloody hell. It’s your life.” With that, he raises a hand to the air and walks away up the stairs, sure to call down that the wards will be put back into place to keep the floors from caving in.

            Turning back to the former wizarding hero, he rolls his sleeves and steps forward. A soft light illuminates his face as he crouches down in front of the not-quite-Potter. He can hear the on-going litany of spells quite clearly now. “ _Finite Incantatem. Ascendio. Salvio Hexia. Confundo. Muffliato. Silencio._ ” There didn’t seem to be much of an order or reasoning behind the list. It was just a list of spells. When he nodded to himself in thought, he caught the hint of a counter-movement, a sly stalking creep toward him. His skin warps with a wave of chills that engulf his entire body. He could feel the pulse now, feel the brush and scrape of the magic as it meets his own, mingles, and changes into something different, entirely.

            “Malfoy.” The word is strange, unfamiliar. Different enough to the spells he’d been listening to for the last half hour that he immediately stopps breathing. The energy built around them, choking him and bringing tears to his eyes.

            “Potter. Stop this. You are not many things, but you are not this.” He spits the words as best he could.

            Harry tilts his head, his angular limbs continuing to edge closer. When he is right next to Draco, he leans forward and sniffs at the air. As he inches closer, Draco feels an unpleasant burning along his left arm. Harry reaches out, quick enough that the other man can not move away. Draco sits and waits as the sleeve of his robe is shoved upward to reveal his dark mark. It is now writhing, wriggling beneath his skin. Harry’s eyes gleam as he bends over it, opening his mouth to let his tongue drag up the alabaster flesh. Draco shivers and tried to pull back. Harry holds tight. Instead, Harry begins speaking parseltongue.

            “Ssssyah hass athess ahsss essohnn.” Rather than a mild burn, the mark feels like an incendio beneath his skin. His blood heats with it and he begins to sweat profusely.

            “Potter. I will hex you. This is not you. You. Are. Not. Him.” His words are punctuated with labored breathing, the last said through clenched jaws. Although he still has control of his wand, he can see Harry’s other hand reaching for it. “ _Relashio_.” The spell was soft, but Draco is proficient at wandless, and even non-verbal spells. Although mild, it releases Harry’s grip and Draco is able to send him sprawling to the floor several feet away. He sees the concentration in Harry’s eyes now as his hands lower to his sides. Harry takes a deep breath.

            “ _Confringo!_ ” Orange flames billow around him toward Draco.

There isn’t a lot of room to maneuver, but the robed wizard dives around the staircase and uses a quick, “ _Aguamenti_ ” to counter and control the curse. They stare at one another and then it is chaos.

“ _Reducto.”_

“ _Brachiabindo!”_

Harry evades this by rolling to the floor and crouching there for a moment, thinking and then responding, “ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

            “No. We are not doing that again, Potter.” Draco is out of the way in a whirl of his robe, wand moving rapidly toward an, “ _Expulso.”_ The spell misses the agile creature that had been Harry Potter, lighting the space up a bright and blinding sapphire. Draco shields his eyes and throws up a, “ _Protego.”_ When the light fades, he does not see Harry. Instead, he feels the wizard’s energy behind him, waiting for the shield to drop.

“Thassssith yassah issshtassss.” It did not look as if the wizard existed any longer inside of Harry’s body. Draco swallows thickly around his tongue and closes his eyes for just a breath inside his shield.

Once it drops, he is ready. “Avada Ke—”

“NO!”

Draco is shoved to the floor, unsure whose voice that had been. There are hands wrangling with his own to try and take his wand. A sharp pain against the base of his head shoves his chin into the floor and there is blessed darkness.

Pain is not quite the word he would use to describe waking on a cellar floor. Draco did not know how long he’d been asleep. He did not know who had hit him, where his wand was, nor where Harry was. What he did know was that his entire body ached as if he’d endured ten rounds with Bellatrix in the Manor this morning. It had been a long time since he’d felt this bone-deep ache and even longer since he let himself think about it. Sitting up is a chore and he does it slowly, grimacing at the way his abs and shoulders detest use.

“Potter?” His voice is hoarse, throat dry. There is no response. He turns around as best he can. With little light to see by, Draco thinks he was alone. That is, until he sees them. Standing in the corner just out of eyesight are Harry and Ron. Ron is speaking rapidly and Harry is agitated, almost pacing in place. He strains to hear, only making out bits and pieces.

“You said… yes, I know… he can’t… are you sure you can handle… I think he’s awake… you should…” They both look at him then. Ron walks over and bites his lip, looking down at Draco on the floor. He extends a hand and waits for him to grab it. When a slowly reaching hand meets his, Ron yanks him upright. Draco holds in the yelp, but barely.

“What did you hear?”

“Honestly Weasley? Not enough to tell me anything about what the fuck you two just did to me.” Ron smiles then. A genuinely, goofy smile.

“All right then. I’ll start from the beginning.” He looks back to Harry, who is now truly pacing at the back of the room. “I’ve already told you basically what happened since Harry killed you-know-who up until Hermione left. Since then, Harry’s had some… ideas about what is wrong with him. He thinks that, like the horcrux that was inside of him,” Ron pauses when Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ahh, you didn’t know about that one. We kept that little detail to ourselves.” Draco nods at this. “Well, like Harry’s horcrux, he thinks that you-know-who left another, shall we say, present. He was inside of Harry for so long that he thinks he’s bollocksed.” The blonde looks confused at this point. “In other words, he thinks that Voldemort poisoned his brain. He’s agitated, he’s twitchy, can’t control his magic.”

“And this has what to do with me? Why did you feel the need to disrupt my perfectly normal life with this?” Draco speaks as if he is well and truly put out, wiping down the front of his robe.

“Normal? When has your life ever been normal, Malfoy?” Draco does not respond. “At this point, he has come up with what he thinks is a solution.”

“And why is golden boy not telling me himself?” Ron looks over his shoulder at Harry and shrugs.

“Probably thinks you’ll Avada him for good, this time.” Ron smirks. “Look, I don’t really agree with what he wants you to do. I think he’s completely round the twist, but this is what he wants. If he thinks it will work, I’m willing to try anything.” Draco could see the desperation in his eyes now.

“What does he want from me, Weasley?”

“Well, that’s just it. He wants you to… torture him, but not in a you-know-who, Bellatrix kind of way.”

“Let me get this straight. The hero of the wizarding world wants his childhood enemy to torture him?” Ron nods again. “Fucking Salazar, why me?”

“When he’s agitated, in the midst reciting spells, he’s really only said one other word.” The redhead pauses here, looking down at his hands.

“And that would be?”

“Malfoy. He says the word Malfoy. Pretty often, too.” Draco blanches.

“So what you’re saying is that he’s been asking for me, specifically, to torture him, to take away his demons? Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re not as big of a wanker as you claim to be.” This comes from Harry, shocking both Ron and Draco. He is closer now, listening to the conversation, yet still apart from it.

“I will ask you again, Potter. Why me?”

“Before they confined me, I saw you. I used to go to the clubs at night when Ron and Hermione needed time to…” Harry shakes his head. “I saw what you do. That is what I want.” Draco juts his chin just a little, pursing his lips.

“While I am shocked to hear of your continued stalking of me, Potter, I have to say that you couldn’t handle that in your current condition even if you paid me for it.”

“You would be surprised what I can handle in this condition, Malfoy.”

“I think this is my cue to leave, boys.” Ron backs away, his heavy footsteps irrelevant to the pair left below.

“There are rules to this, Potter. You’ve already broken the first.” Harry’s magic is buffeting Draco now and he starts whispering.

“I don’t have time for rules, Malfoy.” He is shaking.

In the matter of a minute, Harry strips himself of his shirt, revealing a chest laced heavily with scars. Draco clenches his jaw, remaining mute. “There are no rules with me, except I stay alive. Do you understand?” Draco considers this, then nods. Harry’s arms extend upward and he waits, palms together, fingers clasped.

“We don’t have the right equipment here for this. Spells alone will have to do. _Incarcerous._ ” Harry’s hands are bound and Draco extends the spell upward, allowing it to pull Harry to a beam in the ceiling. Once his shoulders are taut, the balls of his feet just brushing the floor, Draco removes his robe.

Beneath, he is wearing a white button-up. On this, he unfastens the cuffs and rolls them slowly upward. Harry’s eyes trail the movements. Just below the elbow, Draco stops. He makes eye contact with Harry long enough to see the question, the helpless desperation.

“We will start with something simple. You are not to speak. Do you need to be gagged?” Harry shakes his head fervently, causing him to sway just a bit.

There is a quiet moment where Draco steps behind Harry, points his wand at the shoulder blade, and sends a stinging hex. Harry jerks in the bonds, pulling against them, but the only sound is that of his feet readjusting against the floor.

“Nothing? Good.” He sends another, followed quickly by a lashing strike of a hex that he’d learned during his own training. These, the bound man all take with ease. They are placed on relatively fleshy parts of the body and, while the lash elicited a grunt, none of them bring so much as a cry or a wail. He walks around to face Harry. Draco’s slender fingers slip under his chin and lifting. Blazing green eyes greet him. “Are you done yet, Potter?” Harry shakes his head. “Fine.” He huffs and begins hurling hexes at Harry. Some sting, some pinch, some crawl along his skin and feel as if they are tearing it apart from the muscle beneath. It isn’t until Draco unbuttons his shirt to avoid sweating it through that he notices Harry’s head is hanging limp.

He walks forward, but not quickly. There is no rushing movement to check on the man now hanging strictly by his wrists from the ceiling. As he touches the unconscious body, he feels it. Rather, he feels the lack of it. There is no overwhelming cloud of magical energy around the pair. Perhaps this happens when Harry’s brain stops concentrating and is able to focus on healing his body from the inside. Draco takes his time releasing the bonds. Harry does not wake as Draco carries him over to the small bed with its filthy sheets. He doesn’t stir when Draco unwinds the rope from around each hand. There is not a single flutter of eyelashes when the exhausted wizard gathers his robe and trudges up the stairs.

“Weasley,” he calls, using the flat of his hand to pound on the door.

It takes a minute, but Ron’s face pops around the frame, eyes opening wide when he takes in Draco’s sweaty, undone appearance. “Is he…?”

“He’s asleep. Move.” Ron cautiously steps back, sure to set the wards again once Draco is through.

“So… how did it go?”

“Your hero’s unconscious.” The redhead jumps forward, ready to blast a hole through Draco. “Settle down, Weasley. He took a lot of effort to get there. His body is recovering. I think he needs this.”

“Did you heal him?”

“No. Healing him would have brought him back around. Unfortunately, I think he needs to stay battered and bruised for a bit. Let it heal naturally. There won’t be anything… visible.” Jaw tight, wanting to say more, Ron nods curtly. “Check on him in the morning. If he truly says he needs healed, try to keep it as light as possible.” Another nod. Draco buttons his shirt and begins walking toward the door.

“So that’s it?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just going to leave? After that? After what you know? How should we trust that you won’t go blabbing to the first reporter you find?” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Firstly, you should know that I’m about as in favor with the reporters as you are. Secondly, none of them would believe me. If I said anything about what I just did in there, they’d have me up on charges at the ministry faster than I could say golden boy. Do you understand?” Ron says nothing at first, then grabs Draco’s sleeve as his hand reaches the doorknob.

“What if it isn’t over?”

“Then you know what makes it better, now don’t you?”

“He only wants you. He would only let me get you, you know.” Ron is back to looking at his hands; this time, they are twirling his wand end to end. “I begged and pleaded with him. Reminded him what a prat you were-are. He wouldn’t listen. Just told me to trust you. Said I didn’t understand. Said I wasn’t at the astronomy tower. What does that mean, Malfoy?” Draco blanches, hand gripping the doorknob tightly.

“Nothing. It means nothing.”

“Right, mate. That’s what he keeps telling me. So when he wakes up, and he says your name over and over again, will you come back?” There is something more than contemplation in Draco’s eyes now. It’s a shared look of pain with the truth of memory.

“Yes.”

“See to it you do. Maybe you aren’t such a bad bloke after all, Malfoy.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. Go and check on your friend.” With that, Draco walks out of the house, draping the forgotten cloak over his trembling shoulders. It had been many years since the Astronomy tower, but each night he punishes himself with restraint, control, and the promise that he will never take orders from a madman again.


End file.
